


monachopsis.

by wrenwinged



Category: Hollow Knight (Video Games)
Genre: Character Study, Drabble, Other, Random & Short, Spoilers, dont read if not caught up on myla & the grimm troupe, i'm not too sure what to tag it as, this is my first time posting a fic in a very long time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-18
Updated: 2020-06-18
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:53:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24792652
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wrenwinged/pseuds/wrenwinged
Summary: They saved Zote.That in itself is no large task, no grand fight, nothing even particularly noteworthy. It was simply a task, a jump to hit the gnawing beetle, and a very short scuffle, without any form of reward, short or longterm.But they saved Zote, and his mask did not become part of the scenery, and that is the point.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 39





	monachopsis.

**Author's Note:**

> this is just a short drabble/character study regarding the knight and what drives them, bc they clearly aren't empty/"hollow" as they're meant to be;;

They saved Zote. 

That in itself is no large task, no grand fight, nothing even particularly noteworthy. It was simply a task, a jump to hit the gnawing beetle, and a very short scuffle, without any form of reward, short or longterm. 

But they saved Zote, and his mask did not become part of the scenery, and that is the point. 

They could not save Myla. 

The crystals say that she sang until she could not sing anymore, and when they close their eyes inside their shell the Knight can hear the fragments of her voice among the shards that stick out of the ground. She sang many, many songs, in her time, they realize, songs of triumph and tragedy, of rain and snow, of a bug that curled up over a second sun and turned it to the moon, so there would be darkness.

They saved Sly, another near-thankless task, but with some form of longterm payoff, at the least, and despite their purpose the Knight feels a brief flash of indignation every time he elevates a price. 

They could not save Grimm. Or, well, perhaps they could, if they had listened to that accordionist, to help him, but the Troupemaster had spoken of a cycle that could not, should not be broken, and the Knight has no place interfering with that. The Grimmchild whines at night, trembling through growing pains, and the Knight does not interfere with that, either.

And at the end of the day, what is all this to say of them? That they are selfless? That they have a good heart? They aren’t. Every battle is hard, every task grueling, every interaction with every thankless bug in Hallownest another grating annoyance on a score of many. They wish, often, to lay down and curl up and save bugs on their own time, as they wish, or leave them to die as they see fit.

But they saved Zote, and others. And they will continue to save others, until their body gives out, until they die and this time they do not return, and their mask becomes a part of the scenery.

Until then, there is a job to do. There are more bugs to save, bugs who do not come back after death, whose corpses remain even when they do not, and so who is the Knight to deny them that, to curl up selfishly as the others around them waste away? 

No, it is not selflessness, it is obligation, duty, a burn beneath their cloak that pushes them forward on tired, aching legs, detest it as they might.

What does it mean to be good? The lawful obligation to obey the King that cast them into darkness, into themselves, into the bodies of each other? To be loyal to the Creator, that denied them so much? To turn to the Light, the Peace, the Dream that brings mental peace to the remains of what once could have been their friends? To bend and break and bruise and bleed for those who did not, could not, would not ask it of them? 

One time, before his death, they watched the Troupemaster go through the Crossroads, tailing behind him in the shadow, curious and nothing more. He almost certainly noticed them, but said nothing of it, and instead began going about his task, coaxing souls from corpses that Knight had not noticed once.

How many souls had been grieving around them, before Grimm went and dutifully, methodically, mercifully collected them all, and put them to rest?

That night, the Crossroads were a little bit lighter. 

The weight upon their shoulders is never heavier than when they sit at that wrought-iron bench, beside the old bug and his fading town, the lights of the buildings occupied casting away the Shadow but holding back the Light. It is the safest they have ever been, and that is why they cannot ever stay. 

There is a job to do. There are more bugs to save.


End file.
